doloresabrnathy (doloresabrnathy) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-06-16 10:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: library under the neitherlands, character: dolores abernathy, character: obi-wan kenobi |
Who: Dolores and Obi-Wan
What: She's not feeling quite herself
When: Day 2, mid-day
Where: The Library
Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, all sorts of terrible things from Dolores's life/TBD
Status: Closed/In-Progress
...Dolores exhaled her final breath, closed her eyes, and died.
How many times had she read that sentence? At least a thousand. More than a thousand.
She died. She was stabbed. She was shot. Her dress was set on fire. Her hair was ripped out. Her bones were broken. She was attacked over, and over, and over again, overpowered by men who raped her, and men who only wanted to make her scream. Pushed around, ridiculed, and laughed at by women who found pleasure in her confusion. Beaten down endlessly by the same people.
And when she wasn't dying, her life was the same. It was always the same. She'd known it, but reading the same thing on repeat on the pages in front of her made it real.
But it wasn't always exactly the same. Aside from the slight subtleties in the changes in her days, there were entire sections of her books, of her life, that she only had a faint grasp of. Conversations she'd had with Bernard- with Arnold- that she'd never held onto before, but in the book, they were written in as data entry that, were it not for the fact that she recognized half of what she said in it, she wouldn't have even realized were conversations at all.
The parts in the book that stuck out to her the most were parts that didn't have her name in them. Instead, they talked about Wyatt, someone who was her complete opposite, but whose narrative she clung onto every time they were mentioned.
She didn't know how long she'd been sitting in the Library, but she'd been there since the day before, reading, re-reading, and re-reading her books. Her books were not the only ones on the table in front of her, though; there were other names, like Teddy Flood and Arnold Weber, but she held her second volume in her hands, reading over chapters that she'd already read ten times before. She couldn't seem to stop.